


how high

by ishka



Category: Free!
Genre: Breathplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 21:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7523488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishka/pseuds/ishka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sousuke trusts him too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	how high

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sierra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra/gifts).



> [sierra](http://sierrasuke.tumblr.com) wanted makoto on top with some humble asphyxiation and lil' sum'n extra at the end. 
> 
> this is more graphic than my usual smut so tread onwards having been warned. also i don't recommend the way they go about this act outside of fiction-land. good way to get hurt.

Sousuke trusts him too much.

Makoto could ask him to jump off a tall overpass bridge and all Sousuke might ask is: which one?

It scares him.

Not because Sousuke’s a doormat. Not because Sousuke has no opinions or convictions of his own and relies on Makoto to have them for him. It scares him because Sousuke does have these things. He’s bullheaded, he doesn’t often hear points of views that he doesn’t share. The list of things they don’t agree on could be better fashioned into a book. 

It scares Makoto because Sousuke simply assumes if he were to lean over the edge of the bridge and loosen his grip on the railing, Makoto would pull him back. He’s constantly daring Makoto to let him jump. To watch what happens. Maybe he’d live. Maybe he wouldn’t. He trusts he’ll never find out, and live to argue another day over banalities.

Makoto doesn’t trust him on that level. 

“Good,” Sousuke says of it. “You shouldn't.”

He shivers. Not because he hears a threat- quite the opposite. But because Sousuke says it to his ear and doesn’t whisper as they have been doing in their prolonged post-coital haze. Sousuke doesn’t pretend not to notice. He sits up and rubs the goosebumps from Makoto’s upper arms with broad strokes of his palms. Makoto thinks he’ll dip to kiss him away from the edge, but he doesn’t. 

Sousuke’s hands smooth up over his shoulders and come to lay loosely at the base of his throat, thumbs aligned one above the other at the center. Makoto tilts his chin up along with his bare hips. Sousuke meets him with his own above.

“Why do you let me do this then,” Sousuke wonders distantly.

“I like not knowing,” Makoto confesses quietly.

Sousuke releases him, to his disappointment, but bends and gives him the kiss he was hoping for. “Or you know I couldn’t hurt you.”

Makoto breathes him in, and doesn’t let it go unacknowledged he didn’t whisper that either. “It’s not under your control if it hurts me or not.”

He’s said it before, but Sousuke’s eyes widen a fraction of an inch as if it’s the first time he’s hearing this. 

“No matter how careful you are,” he continues.

“You’re fucked up,” Sousuke speaks to his lips, his reprimand delicately delivered.

“You get off while you’re doing it,” Makoto counters, and Sousuke’s cock twitches along Makoto’s, dissolving the denial threatening to fire from his tongue. “So I’m only as fucked up as you.”

Sousuke pulls back enough to fashion his hands around Makoto’s throat with intent this time, thumbs pressing down hard enough to strain. A flood of adrenaline blooms from Makoto’s chest and cascades down his ribs, his skin heats up beneath Sousuke’s own flush.

His lips part in anticipation, and Sousuke kills its ascent when he moves his hands to the side to press softer there, where he can’t crush him. Only gently lull him.

“This is safer. I wish you didn’t want me to squeeze, too, you’re not supposed to...”

Sousuke’s voice carries somewhere into the pillow under his head; Makoto doesn’t catch it in time and must wait for the words to loop back around. 

“It isn’t safer,” he says, and doesn’t deny the rest.

Sousuke’s thick eyebrows crease as he presses harder to the sides of Makoto’s neck to cut his bloodflow off all the way, Makoto blinks once and time slows. Sousuke speaks full-tilt to his ear again, the rumble in his voice makes Makoto’s vertebrae rattle and his toes curl. “ _Breathe_.”

He refuses. Or doesn’t feel he needs to. Sousuke kisses him, and doesn’t relent his hands while he works Makoto’s mouth. Makoto’s lips catch every point of contact, and deny every one of his attempts to get Makoto to gasp, whimper, anything. He can’t kiss him back as the feeling drains from his lips, and his vision tunnels to a pinprick, waves roll in on the edges, and he moans under the weight of full-body pleasure.

Sousuke lets go, and Makoto swallows the air between them and floods with warmth. He thrums with a buzz of foreign life and Sousuke drinks him in, welcomes him home, quietly prays his name.

“When you breathe before I take it away again,” Sousuke murmurs, his thought incomplete. He doesn’t want to say it, but he doesn’t need to either. His cock is hard and his thighs are tense, and that’s what he means. The thoughts he doesn’t voice bounce around his head, they press his lips to Makoto’s neck and force him to hitch his inhales with arousal. “ _Gasping_.”

Maybe he isn’t as fucked up as Makoto is, then.

“When I don’t. When I nearly pass out.”

Sousuke charts his way back to Makoto’s lips. “It feels good then?”

Makoto doesn’t answer him. He drops his hands to Sousuke’s ass and kneads him there, makes him writhe. They’re both hard again, a cursory touch shows Sousuke’s still loose, still wet. A cursory thought shows Makoto still isn’t done with him today. 

He fingers him only enough to demonstrate his thoughts, the reach is too tough to make it nice, the lube too dry.

“Makoto,” Sousuke mumbles, knees spreading on either side of Makoto’s hips to give him better access.

“Let me show you,” Makoto dares, and chases after his words as soon as they leave his mouth to take them back. It crushes their mouths together again, and he’s unable to chase further. He’s not allowed to ask Sousuke for this, his own rule. Because Sousuke trusts him too much, and he’ll simply say-

“Okay.”

-without a second thought. 

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Makoto turns his head away, withdraws his hands conservatively to Sousuke’s waist. “I don’t want to.”

Sousuke peers down at him and doesn’t buy his rescintion for even a moment. He takes Makoto’s jaw between his fingertips and forces his gaze forward. “You want to fuck me, and you want to choke me. I feel it on your throbbing dick right now.”

Makoto draws a shaky breath, and in practiced movement, wraps his legs around Sousuke and flips them over. 

Their lubricant didn’t travel far. Sousuke holds his knees up and apart without Makoto saying anything. He’s already used, his legs are bruised up, and if Makoto could see his back he’s sure it’s worse there along the gorgeous muscle Makoto sunk his teeth into earlier. His ass is a reddened stretch, and he still moans like he’s being paid to do it as Makoto works him open again. 

A loose, wet heat; just the size for Makoto’s cock. Sousuke’s thinking the same, eyes fluttering shut and swollen bottom lip pulled between his teeth to save his beg for it. He tilts his chin, exposes his throat, and Makoto hates himself. Hates that the fingers of the hand jerking Sousuke off in time with his stretching twitch with excitement. He knows how it feels, the euphoria at odds with a horrified panic. Sousuke doesn’t understand it’s equal parts pleasure and pain. It’s not something that comes with a handbook.

“I don’t want to _choke you_ ,” Makoto denies over Sousuke’s noises. “I want you to feel good.”

“Don’t kill me then,” Sousuke laughs, and this is why Makoto should’ve kept his mouth shut. He doesn’t see the danger. Only sees Makoto. As if the two concepts are mutually exclusive. As if Makoto hurting him is _impossible_.

He stops and returns his hands to himself, the threat unsaid but blaringly loud. “Take me seriously.”

Sousuke drops his grin and lets his eyes go dark, darker than Makoto’s ever been able to read. “You have no idea how seriously I take you, Makoto.”

It relieves him, whether or not that will be a good thing is still to tell. 

“Tell me to _stop_ ,” Makoto demands. “If you need it. Hit me if you can’t. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

He reaches for a condom off the ribbon on the nightstand, and Sousuke stills his wrist. “No. I want your cum this time.”

Makoto licks his lips and touches himself with his slick hand, a rare moment taking hold when he lets his guard down and Sousuke’s deep and steady voice does the damage he really means for it to do to him. Where Sousuke reaches all the way to the tightly pressured coals forming in his stomach and makes them diamonds. 

“Hold your knees,” Makoto growls. “I need my hands.”

They’ve already fucked this evening, but it feels as good as the first time to press into him again. Only this time Sousuke sighs and doesn’t hiss. Makoto is in control and doesn’t lose his patience. Doesn’t plan on losing it either, not with a life in his hands.

Sousuke looks to him expectantly, and already he clearly has no idea how Makoto plans on running this if he thinks he’ll put his hands anywhere near his face this soon. He grabs his cock instead, and thumbs the precum gathering there until his head is smooth with it. He sets a rhythm where they’re joined, not too fast or slow to keep them there at the edge. 

“Hold your breath.”

He does, and Makoto snaps his hips harder, fists his cock tightly. Sousuke’s brow furrows, his jaw hangs open, and his chest doesn’t move. 

He lasts two seconds over a minute -Makoto counts- and he breathes. Makoto lets him inhale once. Twice. Slows his hips.

“Hold.”

One minute. He breathes. He barely finishes one gaping inhale- “Hold.”

He’s a sight that makes Makoto’s vision hazy. His cheeks are flush with exertion and his lips are wet where he’s sputtered to catch his breath. There’s lust in his eyes he can’t vocalize and the faintest tremble reverberates in his knees where they touch Makoto’s sides, stronger when Makoto is flush with him, pounding him deep and lingering there before pulling out. 

Fifty-three seconds. He gasps this time. “Hold,” Makoto repeats right away, and slows his thrusts until he complies.

There’s a dawning in Sousuke’s stormy eyes as hypoxia slows his reactions and unfocuses his gaze. His hands slip on his knees and Makoto uses his free hand to pat his forearm and remind him to keep his grip. 

His cheeks are redder and he’s about to let it go again, Makoto feels the burn in his own lungs as he holds his breath along with him to time the best moment. It comes when he sees Sousuke’s chest hiccup trying to squeeze a few more seconds out of himself, ready to give in and live-

Makoto bends forward and takes his freedom from him in a flash. Sousuke’s eyes widen at the impact of Makoto’s heavy, unflinching hand at his throat; a small, pathetic gasp gets by that twists Makoto’s heart five different ways. There’s nothing sexy about this for him. It hurts. If this is what Sousuke sees- a helpless, struggling person beneath him, eyes doe-eyed in fear- Makoto should more carefully consider what about this is really getting them off. But not right now.

And there it is after a mere five extra seconds, that line between agony and ecstasy. When Makoto times his thrusts with the hand stroking Sousuke’s cock, and his other begins to shake keeping the pressure firm to Sousuke’s neck. Sousuke’s fists claw at the sheets as he beats back his _need_ to slap Makoto away, his hips buck and thrash to meet both sensations at once until his movements fall limp and slowed.

Makoto releases him, he sobs swaths of air into his lungs. Makoto squeezes the base of his dick and denies his finish so soon.

“Fucking shit,” Sousuke rasps.

Makoto shakes his head in disbelief of himself, but only briefly, as he doesn’t want to lose the progress they’ve cleared. Sousuke thinks he has a moment to rest, Makoto does not allow it.

He eases off Sousuke’s windpipe this time, keeps the pressure to his fingertips and where his blood flows with only enough denial of his breathing to take it down to a weak wheeze. He cuts it off anyway, kisses him hungrily. The glisten on his lips is too much of a distraction, and kissing him is a means of getting his eyes off of Sousuke’s pained face. 

Sousuke gives him his weakest moans when Makoto resumes stroking him off, fucking him harder. They’re damp and heavy on his lips, full of a deep-seated pleasure he can’t communicate. Makoto could listen to him like this forever. Muted, struggling to make himself loud and heard where every note he gets by is weighted down with only the rawest feeling. He’s been in this position before with Sousuke’s cock shoved so deep inside him it seems it belongs there, his brain deprived and quite literally dying, firing off only _yes, yes, yes_ as pleasure’s the only sensation making it past the wall. That’s what he sees in Sousuke’s eyes.

Despite his denial Sousuke still constricts himself on Makoto’s cock, can still rock his rips up into Makoto’s hand. Still begs him for more. Maybe dares. Maybe he’s on that bridge and about to let go, and he’ll fall if Makoto doesn’t let up his hand and call his bluff. It spurs Makoto harder and deeper, until skin slaps skin and Sousuke’s cock spills precum over what Makoto can keep up with. 

Makoto wants to come and fill him up, kiss him as he does, and Sousuke would scream at this point if he could. He’d scream if Makoto did it and bent to eat him out or he’d scream if Makoto finished him off by swallowing his cock. There’s a feral drive to _scream_ after being denied your lungs for so long, to prove they’re there and working. 

The danger comes when Makoto’s focus slips, if ever imperceptibly. In the few times they’ve done this, Sousuke’s lost his concentration a precious _fewer_ times, and Makoto can honestly say he was afraid. And now Makoto sees just how easy it is to become lost in this event, just how quick it is to lose count in your head- is it forty-two seconds or fifty-two?- and toe the line between too much and _way_ too much.

It makes him want to stop dead in his progress at how fucking thoughtless it is to be turned on by something this twisted, because when he lets his blood flow and Sousuke’s precious inhale pulls the air in a rush past his ears and from his lips, he takes it from him again in a heated kiss Sousuke’s too dizzy to return. Makoto waits until he’s recovered enough to make eye contact but still wobbles where he lies in a daze, and closes his hand around him in what needs to be the final act now, because Makoto can’t take this much longer without really fucking up. Without wanting to be sick at how goddamned hot he finds the entire thing. 

“Do you get it?” Makoto asks, a level calm burying his darkening thoughts.

Sousuke shudders and Makoto relies on what he knows about Sousuke’s body, when it seems he’s had enough and is too stubborn to keep his promise. Makoto would know all about that, after all, often allowing Sousuke to push him too far in a sense of shifty curiosity he can’t deny he has for his limits. 

He moves more tenderly, aims for the perfect tempo and power and stroke he only knows after so many years of loving this man he’s _hurting_ , and though Sousuke should be panicking and fighting him off he puts energy Makoto is surprised he has into kissing him back, into dropping support from his knees and tangling his fingers in Makoto’s messy, sweaty hair and keeping him close when he should be repulsed because he knows it’s almost over, too. He knows Makoto’s making good on his promise to make him feel good and fuck- Makoto hopes he’s delivering. 

Makoto loosens his grip but doesn’t remove his hand, gently stroking the raw skin of Sousuke’s throat in tandem with his other movements. Sousuke tries to hide his croaking sob of _Makoto_ underneath Makoto’s tongue, he doesn’t bother to still his shaking arms holding Makoto close, his legs slip to lock his ankles around Makoto’s waist and hold him flush. 

He breathes and gasps and gets out all those heady, thick _broken_ moans Makoto’s barely been able to keep himself in control over, and Makoto spills hot into him. He comes and Sousuke exhales sharply to his ear, the rush of life louder than a whisper sending him over until he cries _fuck_ so quickly and jilted that it loses any meaning to either of them. 

He lets Sousuke push him impatiently down his body before he’s even ridden out every wave, he lets Sousuke maneuver his mouth over his cock and he lets Sousuke shove himself down his throat and not warn him in the least that he won’t be removing it until he comes. Makoto immediately chokes and Sousuke whimpers, the fluttering of his throat a fucking sensation Makoto knows from experience is otherworldly. Makoto eases his fingers into his ass too, and feels his own warm finish as it spills and slides, uses it to finger him mercilessly while he struggles with his cock. 

Sousuke screams like Makoto thought he would, raspy but strong. His back is bowed, his head is thrown back, and Makoto thinks he’ll have a headache for two days for how hard his hair is being pulled as Sousuke forces him down and holds him there.

Tears sting his eyes when he can’t _breathe_ , and when he tries to cough again Sousuke moans his name so deeply Makoto has to grind a truly unwanted jolt of pleasure into the mattress below him. Sousuke’s hips go stiff, and Makoto takes his load as best he can, swallows since he has no choice, and grinds his hips to the bed again besought with shame that he loves the taste and feel of taking an orgasm this hard and dirty.

He pulls up against Sousuke’s strong arms to hold him at his base and let his last spurts catch Makoto’s lips and cheek. He sees how worth it that was by Sousuke’s mesmerized gaze staring where his cum streaks Makoto’s face and quietly files away his breathless, pained whimper as Makoto thumbs the mess away and licks it off. Slowly, steadily, despite how badly he wants to collapse where he is and not move for weeks, because Sousuke won’t forget that sight.

Sousuke’s chest heaves, he pants through bruised and parted lips, and his brow is dotted with sweat. His throat is angry and red and Makoto’s cum has managed to get fucking _everywhere_ in the last thirty seconds or so. Makoto’s muscles ache and shake and a spell of drowsiness pulls him back over his boyfriend, momentarily unconcerned with that last messy detail. He sinks a kiss that’s deep and slow and full of _whoops_ and _sorry_ ,as they often find they need to do when anything gets out of hand like that certainly did.

Makoto laughs weakly above him, unable to sit up far enough to keep it from tickling Sousuke’s lips. Sousuke groans and can’t break up his blush, but has enough left in him to grab Makoto around the middle and flip them onto their sides so they can recover long enough to feel able to clean up and get some fucking sleep at some point tonight.

“We don’t have to do that again,” Sousuke says after some time, after they’ve silently apologized enough and Makoto’s kissed wordless _I love you_ s to Sousuke’s tender throat, and Sousuke’s woven soft _me too_ s to Makoto’s aching scalp with his fingertips.

Makoto pulls him tightly to his chest, away from the edge of the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://iskabee.tumblr.com)


End file.
